Hollow-Point
Introduction: Your destination is Hollow-Point, the depths of the eastern desert cliffs where a massive indestructible sword has been stabbed into the world prior to civilization. You set off out of the Capital City and make your way through the houses and farmlands, crossing the bridges over the several rivers that lock the city away from the rest of the world. After a few hours of travel, the Genesis Knife can be seen towering over the desert peaks, marking where the town is nested. You come to a fork in the road where the ground becomes split between rising sand and lowering soil, to which you continue down through the temperate forests that block the sun through thick canopies. You pass through several smaller villages of woodworkers and carpenters, remarking the road becoming more pronounced as you cross through society. Overhead you hear the loud jostle of leaves as a shadow passes overhead quickly, most likely another dragon conducting business in the area. Breaking through the trees, the ground opens up into a massive softly sloping valley. The Genesis Knife stands tall again above the cliffs, it's smooth grey shining in the midday sun. The cliffside opens out into a sinking valley leading you towards a mass of wooden houses, decorated in wind-chimes and elaborate wooden bridges carved with small pictures of dancing animals. The surrounding village is home to mostly elves and some humans, going about their day and working in the fields on the crest of the sloping valley, where a river parts and causes a small stream to run off down a cobblestone trench. Following the stream, you're taken into the heart of the cottages, where upon closer inspection, the windows of the finer houses are made of a very thin crystal substance, as well as the wind-chimes, who's gentle sound gives you a safe, euphoric sense. Several farmers are hauling bags of green leafy vegetables, and there's even a vendor here selling freshly cooked steak, fanning himself next to the hot oven. You follow the cobblestone stream further down into the valley, where the houses seem to sit perched as though held back from swirling down the drain. The massive blade is seen carved down into the rock, and as you peer over the bridge that spans around the hole's edge, there are several more tiers of bridges that extend down into the naturally forming crystal caves. Geodes hang, half buried in the side of the rock-hole, and all around the sword are ropes pulled tight, holding various pulleys in place. It becomes apparent that the town here was built around this indestructible sword, and it remains as clean and as unmarked as the first year. Your eyes catch the sight of several dwarves at the bottom arguing loudly about something, swinging pik-axes around carelessly. You begin to stare up the blade, and see that it is indeed shoved through a massive mesa above the town, a beautiful overhang of stone with pictures carved into it's side. You spend a while trying to figure out how to get up there, when you spot a series of staircases built into the cliffside. As you climb, you pass by even more houses where common folk have claimed their territory. Small hanging plants and wind-chimes, carved wooden stairs that have been recently repaired, and the smell of pine mixed with boiling water. The stairs haphazardly climb up the side of the cliff and as you stare down at the village below, you notice the rivers snake up towards the horizon, where a fishing village can just barely be seen. Several dwarves pass you as they tromp down the stairs loudly, carrying equipment, and you come to a large carved stone doorway. You enter into a beautiful carved marble room large enough to hold a dozen dragons, with hanging chandeliers of rainbow quartz crystal. Banners roll off the top most portion of the walls, and through the center of it the massive blade rises. It seems as though this grand mansion was built with the sword as it's foundation. Several large groups of people are standing around a bar, or lounging on furniture, discussing philosophy and art. Many of the older dwarves here are sleeping on the stairs, mug still in hand. It takes no effort to step over them, as most other people are doing. Statues of famous heroes are made of bronze, as well as one in the shape of a swooping dragon. "Muergethuul the Boundless" You exit the lavish court onto the mesa, where clay houses find merger with familiar crystalline accents. Many houses are being constructed and some are looking a bit dilapidated, in need of repair. Grass is spotty at best from here, and there are many excavation holes opened up beside each residents house, leading down into the stone. The wind is fast on the cliffside, and you note that behind it all slopes down into a vast desert, with small patches of civilization dotting the horizon. Your eyes continue upward, and on the balcony of the courtroom is a tall Dwarf...or..a short human, one of the two, it's hard to discern. The leader of Hollow-Point Depths, Bitya-glarin the Half-Dwarf is her name, wrapped in a dusted leather coat and holding a pen in her right hand as she marks down various ticks on a map. She's got the stern dwarven look, sans the beard, and thick red hair pulled into a braid tucked under a leather cap. You climb the last bit of stairs and join her on the roof. She remarks casually that another cave-in happened this week in sector 5, but thankfully no one died. You catch a glimpse of the map, full of intricate digging ports, excavation plans, with numbers scribbled across it haplessly. She sets her coffee mug down on the map as though it's just a coaster for her drink. She takes you up to the observation deck at the highest constructed ridge of Hollow-Point and aims down at the new additions, picking out rich veins of ore and commenting on the economy. Above you dangles a rope-ladder with solid wood footing, leading up to the crossguard of the sword. Staring up makes you dizzy, so the two of you retire down into her private chamber. She offers you a wine, condescendingly, and throws a pillow at you as you sit on the couch. The room is round, with dark wood carving out natural seating, and a massive black opal geode standing at the center of the room. She opens the drapes, and the view of the setting sun casts a beautiful purple and hazy blue through the curtains, reflecting on the geode and causing it to glow. She pulls out a cello and starts playing soft and low, stopping occasionally to drink with you, and regale you with stories of her father and mother as explorers when the region was first expanded. You get the feeling she's always living in the shadow of her parents, or at the very least, the shadow of the past, as the Sword of Source is seen casting a looming darkness that cuts the valley in half, dimming the room by slowly creeping along as the sun sets. After an evening, you find your way to the local Inn back down at the bottom of the valley; The stairs were much easier to descend, than climb. The room is cheap, and you find the accommodations fitting for a quiet mining village. Bed, Dresser, fruit on plate, several holy texts stashed away, and fireplace lit as you entered. Tired from the long trek, you finally unwind and drift to sleep. During the night, you dream of black faces staring down at you from a tall tower, and speaking backwards. As indescribable creatures spring up from the ground and begin to pull you into the dirt, you awake in a cold sweat as the sound of the creaking inn settles. You notice shadows moving just outside the window, and strain yourself to confront them, standing beside the bed. Outside is a man holding a torch, face covered in leather and crystal showing no skin, tall and menacing, standing just 15 yards from the wall of the Inn. You freeze up, unsure of what to do, and begin to step back into your room to grab a weapon of any kind. The man immediately starts to walk towards your window, raising his torch and shatters the thin crystal barrier. It is at this time you wake up, in shock. in silence. You remember the local legends that ghosts haunt Hollow-Point Depths, and that some people claim the sword itself radiates tangible madness. You stare out the window, and nothing is there. In the morning you quickly leave.